<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the sun sets on even the mightiest kings by golden_tragedy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27229552">the sun sets on even the mightiest kings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_tragedy/pseuds/golden_tragedy'>golden_tragedy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men’s Football</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:54:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27229552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_tragedy/pseuds/golden_tragedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s sunny when Leo’s world crashes around him, when he reads that terrible headline and watches that terrible Instagram video.</p><p>Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro has hung up his boots.</p><p>And he doesn’t want to go on like this either.</p><p>Then there’s a phone call that puts everything into perspective.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Georgina Rodriguez/Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi &amp; Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi/Antonella Rocuzzo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the sun sets on even the mightiest kings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s sunny the day Leo’s world crashes around him. </p><p>Training is the same as always, that same little niggle in his ankle, and the barking pain in his knee that made him stumble a step or two. Or three. But he doesn’t really feel the pain anymore. All he feels is numbness. Football does not bring him joy anymore. It is a job now,not a passion. He still had some fierce sort of anger in him a few months ago. Barcelona was his childhood, it was the reason he was standing here today and he refused to let it burn to ashes. But now there was nothing. He was tired, and something inside of him had broken. </p><p>They had always laughed about how Real Madrid mistreated their legends. He didn’t realise Barcelona would do so too. </p><p>His car turns into the driveway with the same smooth curve as always. Anto is waiting for him on the steps, and although that is something she does everyday, the way she smiles at him betrays an inexplicable sadness. </p><p>He rushes out of the car, because he doesn’t think he could bear any more bad news.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” she says, reading his expression easily “everything is okay.”</p><p>He exhales shakily, wrapping his arms around her, and breathing in her smell. She’s warm, and his half frozen hands soak in her warmth. She is really the only thing that keeps him standing these days. </p><p>“I love you, Anto.” He whispers. </p><p>“I love you too,” she smiles at him, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and he can’t help but smile back. “Now come in, you’re freezing.”</p><p>“What’s up, then? I can tell something’s wrong.”</p><p>“You haven’t checked your phone at all, have you?” </p><p>“No, why?”</p><p>She stops in the doorway, looking up at him with an expression that makes him wonder something he really shouldn’t be. It can’t have happened. </p><p>“You’ll see,” is all she says, knowing that he won’t be able to take it if he hears from someone else. </p><p>He kissed her quickly, then shuts himself in their bedroom. Because it cannot have happened. It’s too soon. It’s not supposed to end like this. </p><p>And yet the second he opens his phone, he sees it. That terrible, terrible headline he hoped he wouldn’t see for years yet. </p><p>Cristiano Ronaldo has hung up his boots. </p><p>Just like that. He is gone. The headlines are screaming about an Instagram post, so he opens it, and he sees a video of him sitting amongst every trophy he has ever won, every boot he has ever worn, and crying. </p><p>“I have reached 37 years,” he says, eyes red, “and I never, never thought I could have reached the place I have reached today. I have won Ballon d’Ors and Champions Leagues and league titles, but,“ he lets out a weak laugh “I don’t suppose I need to tell you all about the journey. You’ve been there with me the whole time. The good and the bad and even the times I was at my lowest.” </p><p>Leo bites his lip, eyes burning as he looks up at the ceiling, letting Cristiano’s voice fill the silence. </p><p>“I do not think I would want to end my career at a low point, I don’t think it would be a fitting end. It doesn’t get much better than this. It could be a little better,” he says with a slightly more genuine laugh “I could have retired with six Golden Balls, but you know what? I think I’m content with the way it has ended. There are many people to thank for my success, but the one I want to thank most is Lionel Messi. It’s funny, I didn’t want him to be in this video, but it’s hard to talk about me without him, you know.” </p><p>Leo lets out a gasp, half laughing half crying, and looks back down at his phone to where even Cristiano is grinning wryly through his tears. </p><p>“Leo, you called me brother once, and at first I wanted to laugh, because we aren’t brothers. But now I realise, you are my brother because I wanted to be the best and so did you. And I think we pushed each other further than humans are capable of going.”</p><p>Leo’s laugh this time sounds more like despair than anything, because it’s over. He knows he won’t last much longer. </p><p>It’s over. </p><p>He throws his phone down. Cristiano is saying a few other things, but they’re going over his head, the words blending together in his thick, rolling accent. He picks it back up again, leaves Instagram and goes through his contacts to find his number. He has Cris’s number, but he’s never used it. Now might be a good time. </p><p>He calls. </p><p>The phone rings a few times, but it’s picked up quickly. Almost as if Cris was waiting for this. </p><p>“Leo?”</p><p>“Hey, Cris.”</p><p>There’s a sigh on the other end of the phone, and Leo can imagine him falling backwards, sprawled on his own bed. </p><p>“You retired.”</p><p>“I did,” </p><p>There’s another silence, the sounds of their own breathing echoing across countries.</p><p>“And are you- are you happy?”</p><p>“I think I am,” Cris’s voice is low and quiet “I don’t think football is something you’d ever want to stop playing, though.”</p><p>Leo can’t quite help the bitter laugh.</p><p>“What?” He can imagine Cris sitting up, slight frown on his face </p><p>“Nothing. I guess I’ve hit the point where I’d be okay never playing again.”</p><p>Cris hums in understanding. </p><p>“The whole Barcelona issue? Yeah that was...messy.”</p><p>“Ha ha.”</p><p>“No, but seriously,” Cris says after laughing for a while “you don’t have much time left. Just enjoy what you have.”</p><p>“I don’t think I can. It’s a job now.”</p><p>“Then retire,” he says simply “you’ve got as good of a legacy anyone can hope for, and if I’m being completely honest, it’s only going downhill from here. Let yourself be remembered as a hero, not someone who’s career died out.”</p><p>“I don’t see the point in playing when there’s no one to compete against, either, if I’m being completely honest.”</p><p>“I didn’t think you would,” there’s a note of smugness in Cris’s voice. </p><p>“You were incredible, you know? As much as I hated seeing you win my awards, you deserved every single one you’ve ever gotten.”</p><p>“And you are magical. That time you scored that last minute goal against us? I genuinely could not believe my eyes. You’re a magical player, Leo Messi.” He says, and there’s a warmth in his voice that Leo hasn’t ever heard before. </p><p>“I-thanks, Cris.”</p><p>There’s a comfortable silence, and Leo can almost imagine that they’re laying next to each other, the light glinting off of Cris’s ridiculously big diamond earrings as they talk with a level of maturity they haven’t talked to each other with before. There was always a twinge of anger, or bitterness, but now it is acceptance. They simply cannot outdo each other. And they have had long, enough wondrous careers, and no one will reach the same greatness they have. And if he has to share that, he’s glad it’s with Ronaldo. </p><p>“So, are you going to do it?” Cristiano’s voice breaks the silence. </p><p>There’s a dull, throbbing pain in his ankle now, and he sits up and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s wan, looks sickly, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks miserable. And he is. And just like that, his decision is made. </p><p>“Yes.” He breathes </p><p>“Good. Maybe we can finally go to dinner.”</p><p>“I’ll do you one better. Up for a Mediterranean cruise?”</p><p>Cris laughs. </p><p>“Alright, Leo.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I won’t be updating my longer fics for a while because I’m not feeling too good these days, so I’ll probably just post shorter one chapter stuff in the meantime</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>